Ivory Lodge, PA, Thanksgiving, 1991

“You really don’t like it?” “No.”

“Not even a little?”

“Not even. It’s just like…” Richard trailed off, cheeks gone high color. He grimaced, and shifted in his place before continuing, “Gross. Gross and fucking wet.”

This was perhaps the worst conversation Richard had ever had, but he was still glad to be having it. Pittsburgh was lonely, and college was hard when you didn’t have any friends. And not for lack of trying, on his part! But he just couldn’t seem to manage that click, the moment, the spark of connection.

He didn’t know how to talk to people, and he’d missed his family all semester long. Dysfunctional though they may be, he always knew what to say to them.

Most of all, though, he’d missed Errol.

Missed his cruel wit and his queasy smile and the subtly fey way he waved his wrists around. Errol was his cousin, and five years younger, and histrionic and mean, but he was elegant like a raw diamond and Richard fucking missed him. And for the past few days of break they boy’d seemed so sullen, apart from the family, drawn into himself. He’d been terrified he’d lost his only real friend, terrified Errol was doing poorly. So, maybe this wasn’t the way he thought the discussion would go when they finally snuck a few beers and ran off to Richard’s room, leaving the rest of the family to their bonfire. But any conversation would do. Errol was effervescent.

Even when he was gaping stupidly

“But I mean—Well, surely—” Errol was gazing at his cousin in absolute bafflement. “Surely your cock works, right? You do get off, at least?”

He’s always needed, desperately, with a kind of manic fervor at times, for Errol to think him impressive. Cool. But now, about the question of his theoretical prowess, he could not defend himself.

“Since when is that your business?” Richard mumbled, feeling suddenly very juvenile.

“Since forever!” Errol enthused, sloshing his beer around. “Since fucking birth. Since my fucking genius, 20 year old cousin just told me he hasn’t gotten any since he was my age.”

“Seventeen. I was seventeen. Fifteen is too young to be having sex.” This, at least, he could assure himself of. He’d lost his virginity at a perfectly respectable age. Never mind the unpleasant awkwardness and unappealing physicality of the encounter, or how he’d gone soft halfway through and left the girl in tears.

Errol snorted, breaking him from his reverie, suddenly looking extremely amused. “Well,” Errol groused. “This is awkward.”

“Hm?” Richard didn’t know what he was talking about.

“It’s just that you’ve made me feel rather ran-through, now. Dispoilt, even.”

Errol’s grin was beatific with mischief, and what might have been pride, but Richard was frozen. There was a strange, sick feeling creeping up his esophagus he decided must be horror.

“What, really?” he said, hand clenched around a sweating beer bottle.

Errol evidently did not catch his tone, because his grin expanded to a face-splitting gash of red lips and teeth and he playfully poked Richard in the ribs.

“Mhm. I lost my virginity at 13 and I’ve had quite a bit of practice since. Actually, I wish we’d talked about this sooner, I have soooo many stories. You’ve missed a lot since you went away, Richie, I’ve been very grown up.”

He bumped their shoulders together, playfully. Richard blanched.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Richard. I can hardly help it if I’m pretty.”

It was his turn to stare, taking this new information in. It did not settle well, and the bitter feeling persisted.

Thirteen. Right after Richard left for college in the summer. “Seriously? Jesus Christ, Errol! Fuck!”

He swept a hand over his face, God did Errol frighten him…He was so young, and so reckless and… and Richard was pissed he hadn’t told him about something this important until now. Last he checked, Errol told him everything! In his sea of social inadequacies, Richard had come to count on Errol’s reliance on him. Obviously, however, this wasn’t something he could help with and Errol had found his own way well enough alone. Maybe he really had grown up, without him.

And that was another thing entirely. He didn’t want to think about his Errol, his boy, with his floppy sandy hair and his big gray eyes being… dispoiled.

But he couldn’t say any of that without sounding like the selfish, clingy freak he really was.

So he changed tack, pitching the bridge of his nose before continuing, “Please tell me you’re being safe, at least, that no one’s taking advantage of you—or, or— hurting you—“

Suddenly, he had a lapful of Errol and a hand over his mouth. The look on the boy’s face was put out, sardonic. Richard batted the hand away and made to speak again but Errol pressed one slim finger to Richard’s face, silencing him.

“Richard, please. For my sake. Remove that steel rod you’ve got lodged in your anus. I get enough Mothering from Janine as it is. We can’t all be such fucking monks.”

“I’m being serious, Errol.”

The hard line of the boy’s mouth softened, then, as did his eyes.

“I know. Thank you. But I promise you, I’ve been very responsible.” Then he smiled, and booped Richard’s nose.

His anxiety waned, as did his frustration and the bitter feeling, and only embarrassment was left to rattle around in his chest. Only it was so much stronger now then it had been just a minute ago. By the time Errol had slipped away and landed beside him on the bed again, he felt bereft and so much more the fool. He scrubbed at his face.

“Sorry, I don’t know why I… Sorry.”

“You’re fine, Richard. Lord forbid you worry about me.” He looked disappointed, though, and Richard floundered.

“No, no, I shouldn’t be judging you or giving you advice on something I obviously know nothing about. Like, good for you, man, honestly. Ignore me. Tell me about your wild sexcapades.”

Errol did no such thing. Instead he clasped a warm hand on his forearm and said, “This has really been eating at you, huh?”

Richard gave him a wan smile, before studiously applying himself to the label of his forgotten Corona with eyes askance. It was strange to see brash Errol so warm and quiet, and it made him feel overexposed and naked.

“I’m sorry I even brought it up,” Errol continued, rubbing up and down his arm. Then, with a

little self deprecating smile he said, “I’m just a little bewildered. I enjoy sex very much, you see, I can't imagine avoiding it. Ambivalence, I could understand, but I didn’t know it was possible to dislike getting your dick hard. Which you still haven’t answered me about, by the way.”

Richard sighed. He’d really hoped they could drop this, stop talking about his inadequacies and stupid traitor body and his inability to connect with people his own age. Let alone have sex with them.

The pressure of Errol’s hand grounded him, though. Maybe this could be how he held onto him. Richard wouldn’t need to be dissapointed, if Errol stopped looking up to him. Not if they were… equals. Conversation for conversation.

He made himself talk.

“It’s not that— It’s not that I don’t— I do get… aroused, obviously, but it’s like everything after that is just. Weird? Disgusting?”

He gave Errol a beseeching glance, but the boy only gave an encouraging nod back.

“I-I want people to touch me, to want me, but… I don’t know. It’s like sex by itself is an instant boner killer. How fucked up is that?”

Richard laughed, but it was humorless and sharp even to his own ears. Errol scooched closer and threw an arm over his cousin’s shoulder, fingers tickling the baby hairs at the back of his neck, so he obviously didn't believe it either.

“It’s okay, Richard, forget I said anything. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

And Errol really needed to stop sounding so regretful and sad and fucking sorry.

“No, no, you’re right. You’re right, Errol. It’s fucking weird that you’re having more sex than I am, it’s fucking weird that I’m an adult and I still haven’t figured this out yet.”

“Well…”

Richard looked up sharply, caught by the the faintest edge of lightness in his voice. Anything to dig him out of this emotional hole he’d dug himself into.

“Well?”

“Maybe I could help you out?”

Richard was immediately apprehensive. “‘Help me out?’”

“Yeah,” Errol responded, gaining confidence. “Try and figure out what your deal is. Like I said, I’m very experienced.”

Errol’s grin was wide and queasy and knowing, and Richard was comforted by his

self-assuredness even as he cast his mind away from the implications of that last sentence. Banter was familiar ground for them, and teasing untroubled water.

“Well then, Doctor, I defer to your expertise.”

“Excellent,” Errol said, giving his shoulder one last squeeze. He took the beer from Richard’s hand and set it down along with his own on the bedside table. Then he linked arms with Richard and tipped them backwards, dragging Richard down to lie on the bed next to him.

They were in Richard’s room at their grandfather’s great country house, and he always kept the lights dim, the walls and windows covered in posters and photoes and magazine clippings. The

room was a nest built from every faze and passing fancy he’d ever had, and the bedding was soft the way only a childhood bed can be. His summer break sanctuary, and Errol’s too. They were secluded from the rest of their large family. But even if someone walked in, and they wouldn’t, nobody would think anything of them lounging around on his bed. Errol and Richard have kept their own council for fifteen years and counting and so far they’ve gone undisturbed. After all,

the pair of them had been two peas in a pod since the day Aunt Janine dumped Errol in Richard’s lap and he declared he’d be keeping him.

So Richard let Errol manhandle him as he began his diagnostic.

“Now,” the boy began. “We’ve established your dick is in working order.” “Yes,” said Richard, tucking his chin to his chest.

“Well, what gets it going?” “Like, do I watch porn?”

“Not necessarily. Just whatever gets your goat. Rocks your jollies. Whatever’s sexy.”

Richard groaned in frustration, and suddenly his mouth was full of frustrated word-vomit. He hadn’t been raw and honest with anyone in maybe years, and this mature, understanding bent to Errol’s character brought out the confessor in him.

“Nothing’s sexy. I’ve never looked at someone and thought, ‘woah, sexy.’ And I don’t watch porn because it’s the same issue. Just people. On display. Having sex. Lots of squelching and panting and all this skin and the lighting's always terrible and nobody even gives a shit.”

“So you want love? An honest woman?” Oh, please.

“Love has nothing to do with it. Like I said, I want someone to want me but that doesn’t make the fucking part any more appealing. I don’t even like to jerk off! I mean, I do it. I’ll be really keyed up, really wanting to get there, but then I’ll touch myself and it’s like… too much. Too hot, too slick, too much sensation. I always feel gross after, like I’ve just eaten a tablespoon of sugar. Too sweet.”

“Well we’ve circled back to the same problem, Richard. You’ve done lots of whining about what you don’t like, what do you like? What makes you feel good, to think about?”

Errol was leaning over him now, chin on his fist, gray eyes looking down at him with complete interest. He was so young and sweet and goofy looking, lips all chapped to hell, and Richard felt so stupid under him.

But he said “Kissing,” immediately and completely honestly.

Errol raised an eyebrow.

“Do you mean—” he pressed a smacking kiss to his own palm. “—type kissing, or real kissing?” Richard rolled his eyes. “Real kissing, obviously.”

“But frenching is wet and hot and slick and gross, too. Why is that different for you?” “It’s… not? Like it’s still bad but it’s the good kind of bad.”

“The good kind of bad?”

“Yeah, like getting your lip bitten or—“ slapped, choked, held down, “—y’know, stuff like that.” If he got any redder he’d melt into a puddle of molten slag. He’d like to say his… interests.

Fascinations. Were the last thing Errol needed to know about. But by the pleased look on his face, like a cat already fat from the first canary and looking around for another, he knew that was a lost cause.

“So kissing’s good for you. Thinking about it makes you hard.”

Richard grunted in confirmation, blushing again at his cousin’s frank tone.

“What else makes you horny? Obviously, you're not daydreaming of gorgeous babes and their giant boobs.”

This was where Richard was unsure, more unsure than usual but… he had come this far. And Errol was his best friend. Errol was apparently wise beyond his years in all manner of sexual moors. Errol wouldn't judge him.

He took a long, shaking breath and looked up at his cousin and his owlish eyes and sloping nose and thin red lips. They looked almost exactly the same, the pair of them. They could be twins, if it weren’t for Errol’s boyish puppy fat and the splotchy birthmark at the hinge of his jaw. Who better to tell, for the first time?

“I read books,” he said.

“Mmm, what kind of books? Dirty books?”

“Yes. But no pictures, just… vivid descriptions.”

“And what do your naughty books describe? Is it bad?” “Very bad.”

“Boys?”

Here, Errol’s brow twitched. Richard frowned. He hoped Errol didn’t think he was hung up on that. Errol had, of course, come out to Richard before anyone else. So far, in fact, nobody else that mattered. Surely he didn’t think he’d be so pent up over a little gay erotica?

Still, though, he was only half wrong. “Sometimes, sure. But worse. Way worse.”

Richard braced himself for a flicker of disgust, or even a moment of hesitation. But Errol just burst into delighted, shrieking giggles. His shoulders shook as he calmed himself down and when he looked back down at Richard he was forced to wonder if his cousin’s eyes had always been so black in the middle.

Errol walked slim, fine-boned fingers up Richard’s upper arm, grinning at him.

“Well you’re a dark horse, aren’t you, Mr. Burns. Tell me, just how kinky are you?”

And Richard tried desperately to remember that Errol always sounded breathless and husky and playful and wicked, and that there was nothing exciting at all about lying prone beneath his 15 year old cousin, arms interlocked and pressed close together.

“I… I’ve read almost everything. Blood and beatings and s-submission. Cannibalism. Kidnapping, and—“ Incest. All kinds. His breath hitched, “Rape. Uhm… I don’t like piss or shit or kid stuff but… I’ve read about pretty much everything else. Anything bad get’s me so fucking hot.”

That last bit came out choked, twisted into an embarrassing wimper.

Something shifted in Errol's gaze, or in the air between them, and it was only the intensity and interest in his stare that saved Richard from mortification. He was weird, and gross, but obviously Errol saw something in him worth looking at because he just kept doing it.

Errol began to trace a new pattern. A burning, meandering trail along his shoulder with his index finger.

“And why are kissing and dirty books sexy-bad, but porn and people and fucking are just bad-bad. What makes those things good?”

“It’s just different. Headier. It’s all in the mind, it’s all about emotion and… and power.” He paused. “‘Everything in life is about sex. Except sex, which is about power.’”

Errol grinned, wide and wolfish, and Richard’s stomach rolled.

“Oscar Wilde. How worldly of you. And here I thought you were a blushing virgin, Richie. But looking at you now…”

And here he took a long, luxurious inhale, before booping Richard’s nose again.

“I can see you’ve been a very bad boy indeed. Congratulations. Welcome to the club.” And then the finger slipped to rest, innocuous, on Richard’s bottom lip.

Richard gasped, closed mouthed, and bit his tongue not to open his mouth and suck and suck and suck until his jaw was sore and he forgot what food tasted like. God, this had all gotten so very far away from him.

Errol's smile got wider, knowing.

“So you like it rough and nasty,” He said, considering. “Why not go to a fetish club? You’re a big boy now,”—and Christ he had to stop saying things like that—“they’d let you in. And I’m sure you could find some delicious dominatrix to carefully avoid your more delicate appendages. In fact, I believe some specialize in just that.”

Richard had thought about it, but…

“That’s the thing,” he whispered, plaintively, trying not to disturb the soft fingertip against his mouth. “In real life it’s all so harsh and physical. In a book it can be…” He met Errol’s eyes, and could admit to himself he was about to beg. “…tender.”

Errol’s smile went closed mouthed and soft again, that long look, and he rubbed at the seam between Richard’s lips before he pulled his hand away. Richard could not stop the pathetic,

keening noise he made at the loss, but Errol made a soft sushing sound and brushed his hair away from his face. He shuddered violently, screwed his eyes shut, and went silent.

They sat in that silence for some time, and bitter dread pooled in the back of Richard’s throat as he felt Errol shift against him. But then his voice returned, hot wet breath against Richard’s ear.

“I think I know how to help you now.”

And then he was pressed close to his side. Mouth at his neck, and hand on his chest, and leg over his leg.

“Yeah?” Richard gasped, inarticulate in the glut of sensation. The pressure was so, so good. Completely clothed, but damning and intense and just on the edge of something.

“Mhm,” Errol hummed, nuzzling the underside of Richard’s jaw. “And I think I’ll take you up on that sexy story.” Then he kissed him there, an intimate point of contact among many, and this…

this was not okay. This was not allowed. Maybe was okay to think about it, to be attracted to the abstract idea of something like this. But he could not just let Errol—

“Have I ever told you, the first time I ever touched myself I was watching you sleep?”

The sound that clawed its way out of Richard’s chest was inhuman. Errol giggled, and pressed more closed-mouthed kisses to the side of his neck.

“It’s true though. I was eleven and you were sixteen and I’d never seen a man up close before. But I could look at you. I could look all I wanted, and look my fill, because you were mine.

You’re still mine. You’re always mine.”

Richard fisted his hands in his bedsheets, and tried to breath through this. It wasn’t easy. “You were sleeping so sweetly on the couch, like a baby. I’d had a bad dream so I went

downstairs to see you, but I couldn’t bear to wake you up. I just crawled right up next to you. And I could feel your body heat, and I could smell you. Fresh sweat and earth and masculinity and I just wanted to lick you—“

And Errol did, lick long and wet up the the collum of Richard’s neck and that was disgusting, that was too hot too sweet too much, the trail of saliva already cooling tackily, but fuck it was good. His whole body twitched, nipples pebbling with the sting of revulsion and the echoing claxon of absolute desire. He sobbed.

“You made me so hard, Ritchie. Can you imagine me, curled up next to you like I am right now, hand down the front of my pants? I was so hard it hurt. You did that to me, baby. Had me rutting up into my hand like an animal, watching you sleep. I came in my little batman shorts, and I sat in it all night long. Watching you.”

There was fire inside him, in him and all around him, burning him up, and nothing at all of

substance was left anymore. Errol was eating him alive. The thought had him whining, panting, as Errol nibbled on his ear before continuing.

“I left before you woke up. It was so, heh, it was really hard for me. I wanted to tell you, because I was confused and you were always patient with me. But I guess I was… scared. Shy. Didn’t want you to think less of me.”

“Is that… why you never told me you’d lost your virginity?” It was a struggle to speak, but he had to ask.

“That was part of it. Mostly, though, I just didn’t want you to think you weren’t my real first time.”

And fuck, fuck, he was so— He was so—

He was sick. Sick in the head, sick as a dog, he was an animal. And the only thing in his mind was the ringing call of he wants me he wants me he’s always wanted me and not, that’s

inappropriate, Errol, never say that again. God he wanted him to say it again, wanted to be first and only and everything.

Why now, did they have to figure this out? When the situation was so fucking fraught already. Errol didn’t deserve any of this. Errol didn’t need this kind of baggage in his life, he was a kid. And Richard was the adult. It was his responsibility to do the right thing.

Because he loved this boy. Loved him so fucking much. How couldn’t he, when he was so. Incredibly. Lovely.

Richard cracked open his eyes and saw Errol, saw him dewy eyed and slack jawed and hungry and… beautiful. Really saw him. As if for the first time.

And burst into fat, ugly tears.

“Oh, baby, come here.”

Baby. Resistance was futile.

Errol rubbed his chest and cupped his jaw, and kissed his temples and his eyelids and his cheeks. And lapped at the tears on his face— oh God oh God oh God—and kissed him.

Kissed him sweet and slow, on the mouth. Richard melted into him, and felt everything. Felt the friction of his day-old stubble against Errol’s cheeks. Felt Errol’s hips roll against his thigh, the line of his erection hot and thrilling. Felt the boy, his boy, his fucking boy, roll on top of him.

Tug at his hair, hands clawing about the base of his skull. He’d cracked him open, and licked and sucked and bit at all the soft stuff inside.

Richard’s hands flew to Errol’s hips, and he clung for dear life.

“Errol—“ he choked out, when they came up for air, before he lost the power of speech all together. “Errol, this is—“

“Wrong. This is wrong. It’s disgusting. You’re disgusting for wanting this. For liking it. For talking all that shit about people taking advantage of me and then doing it yourself.”

Errol spat recrimination with all the passion and warmth of a lover, panting venom between moist, fevered kisses. Shame made a home in Richard’s heart, and he loved it.

“Is this safe sex, baby? I’m your cousin— I’m fifteen. Our entire family’s outside. What if they walked in here, huh? They’d never believe I wanted this, I legally cannot want this, and you would go to jail because you’re a fucking degenerate. You’re a pervert and you make me sick— oh, fuck, Richie—“

Errol arched his back, rutting against his cousin’s stomach, and Richard’s thumbs slid into the divots between his hips and thighs and pressed down hard enough to bruise. He levered up to kiss Errol again, but the boy shoved him down and licked at the shell of his ear. Richard could scream.

“But I’m gonna tell you a secret, Richie. I do want this. I want you so bad it hurts. I always have.

And I don’t care who knows it. I wanna—“ He moaned, high and broken into Richard’s ear. “I wanna suck you off under the kitchen table while Aunt Julia’s watching. I want you to fuck me on grandpa’s desk so you can make me come all over his paperwork. I want you to pick me up from school and shove your tongue down my throat so everyone knows I’m your whore and I’m yours, fuck, Richie, say it. Please, please, tell me.”

“You’re mine,” he whimpered into Errol’s shoulder, and bit down. Hard. Errol groaned, sounding sweet and as broken as Richard felt. He was still fucking crying.

“You’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine,” he wept the words, prayer-like as Errol ground down onto his body over four layers of fabric. He was pulling his hair so hard it hurt, his stomach ached with tension, and his untouched cock strained painfully against the fabric of his jeans. He’d never felt so good.

“I think..” Errol sighed, face once again plastered to Richard’s neck like it belonged there (and it did it did it did). “I think I was born for this. I think I was born to fuck you.”

“Oh God, Errol, please, please—“ He pried his cousin’s right hand from his hair and pressed it to his chest. Errol cottoned on immediately, clever boy, perfect boy, and thumbed at the sensitive bud there before taking him at hand and squeezing. Richard’s juddering, frantic breaths crescendoed into hyperventilation.

“I was so scared you wouldn’t let me, didn’t want me, but you do, now I know you do, and I want to do this every day, Richard. I was made for you, I’ll do anything you want, anything you need—“

“You already are, you’re perfect, God you’re beautiful, never felt this way, never wanted this from anybody—“

“Richard I need you— I know you don’t— I just—Baby, I need you to touch me.”

On instinct, drunk on feeling, drunk on wanting, and wanting so desperately to please a boy so pleasing, Richard’s hand slipped from its vice like hold on Errol’s thigh to palm the tent in his trousers and squeeze.

“Yes, yes, right there! Right there, baby, you're so good, you’re so good for me…” Errol was gasping wetly against Richard’s collarbone, one hand in his hair and the other fisted into the

fabric of his shirt. He rolled his hips into Richard’s hand and he held him there, rubbing him off through his pants. Richard planted kisses along Errols hairline, his eyebrow, the shell of his ear.

“Oh, I love you, I love you, can’t believe you never noticed… I used to write you valentines cards, do you know that? With glitter and everything…”

He tightened his hand on Errol’s crotch on reflex, enamoured with the idea.

“Mmmm, yes, that’s perfect, sweetheart, yes… Wish I was a girl… Wish I was a girl so I could marry you, be your pretty wife… We could run away and no one would have to know—“ And that was better, that was so much better.

Errol cried out, sobbed, as Richard worked him over.

Richard could only stare, awed, as he brought his boy to orgasm. He felt wide eyed and breathless, speechless, over the buzzing in his mind. It was like a thousand metal wasps, all of them screaming out Errol, Errol, Errol—!

And dear god, the mouth in him. He hoped he never stopped talking.

“Want you to come in me, fill me up, wanna have your fucking babies, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, there— right there—!”

Errol bit down on the meat of Richard’s shoulder and came with a squeal, and then a shudder, and then a wracking sob. He felt warm damp spread beneath his fingers when Errol collapsed against him, his spend just there and yet intangible beneath denim. He wondered what he tasted like. He’d never tried his own.

Taut muscle turned pliable and Errol wept, sucking in great, heaving breaths against the damp skin of Richard’s neck. And he really was crying now. They both were. Still. It was as if, all their lives, they’d been treading water on an infinite ocean. And they had only just now gone under, choking as they took in the sheer depth of feeling.

Richard hadn’t come yet, and he didn’t want to. Possibly not ever. It had never been good before today, and he wanted to bask in this glow. Leave it unmolested by something so final as completion. He felt as though there was a rare and newborn creature burrowing into the

chambers of his heart, and that the thing was fragile and naked and he would die if he did not protect it. And protect it fiercely. His grip on Errol’s hips tightened and the boy cooed, snuffling. Adorable. He ran his hands up and down his cousin’s sides, soothing.

Too soon, the sweaty tightness of his t-shirt became too much, a blight on the moment. Reluctantly he pulled his hands away. Errol whined, desperate, and oh, how the tables had turned. Daring, pigheaded Errol, his little seductress, brought to desperate tears. And for him. All for him. For all his boasting of past lovers, and at his age, Richard doubted any of his highschool fumbles had ever made him cry.

Richard planted a reassuring kiss on Errol's forehead and decided to get rid of the boy’s shirt first. He pulled at the hemline, his fingertips just brushing soft underbelly, and Errol perked up

with violent acuity. With little input from Richard at all, they found themselves skin to skin for

the first time in years. Since they were children. It hurt. It literally hurt to touch him, his fevered skin, and he needed more of him. All of him. Forever.

Errol took his place tucked into Richard’s side, blunt nails scratching pleasantly at the planes of his chest, the other hand tucked under his chin. He sucked an open-mouthed kiss just beneath Richard’s ear and stayed there, gumbing at him like he was a chew toy. Richard wrapped his

arms around him, tight. One hand clasped the back of Errol’s neck, dwarfing it, while the other passed up and down the pale expanse of his back. Errol sighed happily, and Richard squeezed him tighter. Like he could mash him into his body somehow. Maybe he’d just eat him, or wrap him up in a sling and lug him around to all of his lectures. It’d be no hardship, he was a slight thing, rangy and coltish. But he’d grow into himself, soon. Richard shuddered, imagining wide shoulders and strong, capable hands at the dip between his clavicles.

They laid together, breathing in sync, for what felt like an age. Distantly, he knew they had to clean up soon. It was gone midnight, or so the radio clock told him, and the party outside was due to wind down within the hour. But he was so very content, pleasure a pleasant humming in

his sternum and love welling up behind his ears and in the back of his throat. He’d be more than happy to lounge chest-to-chest with Errol until the sun died and the universe exploded, so long as the boy would have him. Every moment they passed unmoving seemed to indicate they would do just that. After all, Errol seemed to have precious little compunction about lying around with spunk in his trousers for hours and hours at a time.

Errol’s hand began to wonder, though, brushing one last time past a peaked nipple before drifting down, down, down. He pinched at his belly button, scratching at his happy trail, before splaying his hand across his waistband. The edge of his pinky just brushed the base of his cock. It was a nothing pressure but it made his breath hitch, and his hands tremble.

“Errol, I–” he stuttered, at a loss.

Errol just pressed a final, chaste kiss to Richard’s neck. Another to his cheek. Richard turned his head to catch his mouth, and felt more than saw Errol smile against him.

“Shhhhh, baby, it’s okay. Do you trust me?”

Richard nodded, eye wide, knowing he must look entirely helpless.

“Then it’ll be good. I’ll make it good for you.” He booped his nose for the third time that night, and Richard felt half the tension bleed out of his body with a stunned huff of laughter. Errol chuckled too, but then his eyes fell to his lips and his fond look turned hot and dark.

“Richie? I want you to kiss me again. And I want you to kiss me like a man. I need you to fuck me with your mouth, do you understand?” Richard gasped in affirmation, Errol’s wayward pinky sliding down just the barest centimeter. Errol smiled wide at his work and nipped at the tip of his nose.

”Mmm… good boy. Just kiss me. I’ll take care of the rest.” And Richard hauled him up by his skull.

The harsh glide of mouth on mouth, Errol’s lips parting wetly again and again for the intrusion of Richard’s tongue, was intoxicating. He lost himself to the contours of Errol’s sharp white teeth,

the tensing muscles of his thoat, didn’t notice his flagging erection had regained interest until it was pressed against a knuckle bone as Errol undid the clasps of his jeans. He whined, tensing up, but Errol bit down viciously on his bottom lip and he was puddy in the boy’s hands all over again.

But even with his jeans undone, Errol touched him with no more than his pinky. Slow, up and down, feather light touches that spanned from crown to base, through the dampening fabric of his boxers.

“You’re so wet, baby,” Errol sighed, delighted, and when Richard made a broken noise Errol licked it from his mouth.

They floated there, for a long time, at the knife's edge. Right where Richard liked it. But soon Errol slowed the kiss, eyes fluttering open to look right into Richard’s eyes. This close, he could see all the blue in them. All at once Errol slipped a hand under the seam of his boxers, the pads of his fingers glancing at the head of his cock where moisture pooled, smearing precome around. Richard breathed hard, in and out, through his nose. The muscles in his calves jumped and quivered, stomach tight around swirling heat. He was flayed, and st Errol’s leisure.

He tried to kiss him again, sublimating the scorching intensity in the taste of Errol’s mouth, but the boy pulled away with a smile. He groaned, desperate, as Errol massaged his cockhead,

fingertips sliding into his foreskin. “Please, please, please, please…”

He didn’t even know what he was begging for. Release, one way or another. “Can I tell you another secret, Richard?”

Richard nodded his head enthusiastically, nearly senseless with wanting. All of Errol's secrets had been good so far.

Instead of answering though, Errol just leant down and sucked his left nipple into his mouth. “Fuck!”

The muscles in his forearms tensed and bunched, fisting his hand in Errol’s hair. The sharp stab of blind arousal was matched only by the sudden fear of discovery, and one fed the other.

Error pulled back just enough to nip at him, with a rumbled “Quiet, baby” and Richard keened, contrite.

He pressed another open mouthed kiss around his areola, licked him, and blew cold air onto the sensate skin. All the while, gently rubbing him with four delicate fingers.

Errol nuzzled his chest.

“Think you're ready for the secret?”

“Mhm..” Richard could feel himself flushing all over. Errol smiled.

“Mom and Dad got into a fight the other day. One of the really bad ones, with a broken window and everything. I wished you were there the whole time, holding my hand, telling me I was

gonna be okay.”

Richard was nowhere near too far gone not to hold his hand now. “Y-you should have called me.”

“I was going to… but then Dad said something unbelievable, and I spent the whole night doing nothing but thinking about it.”

“Was it good…” He trailed off, jaw unhinging at the slightest increase of pressure. He held tight onto his hand. “Was it good news?”

Errol nosed his way up Richard’s body, and kissed his cheek with absolute affection.

“I wasn’t sure at first. But after today, yes. Definitely. You’ll love it.”

“You’ll tell me?” Richard's breath hitched at every exhale now, and he turned his face towards his cousin, his boy, and breathed the air he breathed.

“Of course,” Errol whispered. “The secret is… your father is a filthy fucking dog. A philanderer. And my mother is an open-legged whore.”

The words brought a vivid, evil image, and he saw it playing behind the blown-black pools of Errol’s owlish eyes. His insides clenched painfully… he didn’t mean…

Richard pursed his lips against a tide of desire but the boy nosed them open again. The whole of Errol’s hand encircled Richard’s length, just holding him there, right there, right where he wanted him.

“The secret is…”

He stroked him once, twice, and a fresh tear rolled down Richard’s cheek. “You’re my brother.”

Errol thumbed at the slit of Richard’s cock and the only thing he could think was Yes, yes, he’s mine, all mine, before he came harder than he'd ever come in his life and thought of absolutely nothing at all.